Bellyache
by occulttprincess
Summary: Something of a redemption story, if Roxas can get his shit together. How long can you chase a dream before you have to be real with yourself and give up? Axel says you've already given up if you have to ask. It's tough out there for an artist, and even tougher as a tattoo artist fighting to stay clean, hustle hard, and not stab someone. AkuRoku. Tattoo shop AU.
1. Purple Concentrate

_What are you so afraid of?_

* * *

Roxas wasn't overly excited about today. He wasn't anxious about it, but he wasn't exactly thrilled, either. It had been a really long time since he stepped foot in a shop, almost five years to be exact. But, his best friend, Hayner, had convinced him to at least _try_. He wasn't sure how strong this attempt was going to be, and he had zero expectations of a positive outcome, but still... he knew, in his heart at least, that it was important. All the self sabotage, unhealthy coping mechanisms and avoidance behavior in the world hadn't quite shaken the feeling that he had been doing something undeniably _wrong_ for five years. Or was it six? He couldn't even remember anymore. He couldn't remember the last time he even picked up a pencil for his own enjoyment. He couldn't remember the last time he had a real idea for a painting, let alone a fucking tattoo.

He had been sitting in his car for about twenty minutes, idly watching a man in his early to mid thirties, sitting isolated on a restaurant patio, nursing a whiskey drink. It was odd that he was alone on one of the busier streets downtown at six o' clock, but he looked genuinely content, even satisfied, sitting there in solitude. Roxas chewed on the inside of his cheek and felt something similar to jealousy looking at him.

It was sunset now, approaching twilight. Roxas always loved this time of day, mostly for the colors, the warm summer sunset that looked the way vanilla ice cream and sweet cherries taste. He tried to reach out to it with his mind to find the strength to get out of his stupid car and walk the twelve steps to the door, under a gleaming neon 'TATTOO' sign, and into his fucking nightmare to talk to an old "friend" he was sure didn't really want to help him.

He could always do this another day...

"Fuck it," he muttered, taking the key out of the ignition of the old silver Jeep, and finally getting out.

The air was so warm and sweet. God he loved it, but it didn't make him feel better as he walked.

He opened the door with already clammy hands. His heart was pounding now, and he really hoped he wouldn't choke and gag in there. The worst thing that could happen was a dismissal and another dead end. What was he really so afraid of?

The smell of disinfectant, the deep purple walls covered in traditional American flash, the knick-knacks and oddities tucked onto corner shelves and table tops, the bright buzzing sound of a running tattoo machine, the mellow music playing just slightly too loud... It was deeply nostalgic, but he couldn't help the bitter taste in this mouth at the realization that it wasn't as comforting to him as it once was.

"Hey, can I help you with something?" A young man, probably his age, with a friendly demeanor asked him.

"Yeah, I'm just looking for Xigbar, is he around?"

"Oh yeah, he's actually tattooing right now, he's in that last booth closest to the window," he said, pointing.

"Okay, cool, thanks."

The young man nodded his head and went back to his drawing at the front desk.

"Kiddo!" Xigbar exclaimed with a toothy grin as he walked up, glancing up with one eye from his work briefly. "Long time no see."

"Yeah, it has been." Roxas tried his best smile.

"How have you been?"

"I guess I can't complain. I hate my job, but who doesn't, right?"

"Ohh, can't say I hate mine, dude. I'm living the dream over here. Opening up this shop in the square has been the best decision I've ever made."

"That's awesome man, I'm happy to hear it." And he really was. He smiled, a real one, and hoped he could be so lucky one day.

"So what are you doing now? You said something in your message about wanting to get back into tattooing. That's a hell of a break you took."

Roxas could hear the judgement. You took too long. You always take too long.

"Yeah, I'm working for a dental lab right now, doing stuff with plaster, stone, and wax. Apparently they like artists for that stuff, but it's not the most creative thing in the world. Shit, it's just not me, ya know?"

"Yeah I feel that, little dude. Hey let me finish up here and we can talk, it'll only be about twenty minutes. You can just hang out in the back or something, we have a pretty sweet break room set up."

"Okay, cool."

Roxas meandered through the shop, feeling very awkward. He didn't know what he was doing here. He'd done maybe... two? Three? No, two tattoos in the past two years, only for a couple of friends that really bugged him about it. He had nothing to show, not even any recent drawings save for some passionless watercolor flowers he'd given to his mother for Christmas six months ago. He hoped he could talk his way into Xigbar giving him a chance, helping him get back into the business somehow, anything, but now that he was here, he felt really stupid. What did he even have to offer other than a pathetic kind of desperation? He plopped onto the black suede couch behind the curtain separating the break room from the rest of the shop, and he could feel his ears get hot. He was really feeling like an idiot now. Xigbar probably couldn't even remember any of his work from the time they spent together at that shop, that last shop Roxas ever stepped foot in before...

Just... before.

He nervously picked up a flash book from the coffee table. 'Damn, they have so much flash on the walls, why do they need more in a binder like this?' Roxas wondered. It was all the same, just traditional flash, bold lines, solid colors. Roses, anchors, naked ladies. Nothing more, nothing less.

He flipped through the book until Xigbar finally wrapped up the piece he was working on. He listened to the whole routine of bandaging the fresh wound while explaining the aftercare process, taking the money and hopefully a tip, and sending the customer on his way. It was so routine to his ears, but he could tell it was becoming something more novel, more like something he'd always hear but never say.

Xigbar pushed the curtain back and sauntered around a moment later.

"So, you came here to talk, kiddo, now let's talk." Xigbar leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I mean it's like I explained in my messages before. I just want to reconnect with some people in the industry, and figure out what my next move is. I know I took a long break-"

"Long is an understatement. five years, at least? This craft is about consistency kid, you can't just quit for years and come back and expect to get anywhere with it."

Roxas grit his teeth.

"Listen, I'm not going to go into detail about what happened, but I didn't do what I did for no reason. I went through some really rough shit right before I left, I got into a bad situation, and I told myself that I would come back when I was ready. It took longer than I thought, but I'm ready now. I haven't felt this hungry in a long time. This is what I'm supposed to do, I know it. It's the only thing that's ever made me happy."

Roxas saw it in Xigbar's eyes that he didn't buy it. Anger flared up in his chest and he could feel his cheeks heat up just like his ears. He hoped it'd go unnoticed.

"Consistency is key. You've got to make it work, persevere, make it happen, even if you don't have a shop or a booth, even if you have to set up at your house and tattoo for fucking _free_ , you do it because you love it."

"I'll do anything that I have to do."

"Do you have pictures of any work you've done recently, or even before? Tattoos or drawings or anything?"

Roxas' anger wavered and now he just wanted to melt through the floorboards.

"Not on me no, but I just started a piece on a friend a few weeks ago-"

"Did you take a picture?"

"Well no, because we didn't get to finish it, and he hasn't shown up to let me finish it yet."

"You gotta push harder than this. You've got to be hungrier than this. How can I tell you anything off of nothing?"

Roxas pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. He had expected something like this, but he didn't expect it to hurt this bad.

"Do you have your certs? CPR and first aid-"

"Yeah, bloodborne pathogen and infection control, I have it all, I just finished it last month."

"Well that's a start, and it shows you're serious." Xigbar walked over to the couch and sat on the other side, propping his feet up on the table.

"I am serious. I haven't been more serious about this in a long time- honestly, I'm more serious now than I ever was before."

Xigbar seemed to contemplate his words, but Roxas still had this nagging feeling that he wasn't being taken seriously at all.

"I know you didn't walk in here today to ask for an apprenticeship. I don't even know what you're capable of at this point, so I can't really give you any more answers or advice, other than to just... tattoo. Tattoo your heart out, whether you're in a shop or not. That's the only way you're going to make any progress with this. If you had a little portfolio together and could prove to me that you could pick a piece off the wall and do it, I'd give you that booth right there, right now," he gestured to the empty first booth, by the door.

Roxas glanced at that vacant booth, just waiting for someone to claim it, and felt absolutely mocked. It seemed so far away, so unattainable. He wished he hadn't come now, but at least he would leave learning a lesson or two, as foolish as he felt.

"Get a portfolio together, okay? Anyone else in town you know, you need to go to them and talk to them. Get serious."

"Yeah. I'll do that."

"Good. Listen I hate to run you off, but I have a lot of drawing to do for tomorrow-"

"Oh no, it's cool, I'll leave you to it. It was really cool seeing you again," he said, standing up from the couch.

"It was good seeing you too. I hope I helped at least a little or gave you some kind of advice you can use."

"Actually, yeah, you did," Roxas said while he wandered back to the front entrance. He really did learn something, in all honesty- never show up empty handed or you _will_ feel like an asshole.

"And hey, if you're looking to make more connections, I have a friend who runs a shop on the northeast end of town. You know Five Points?"

"I've heard of them, but I've never been there. I've heard good things, though."

"Yeah check it out, go up there and ask for Lexaeus. He's really cool, he'll hook you up."

"Yeah, I'll talk to him," Roxas said with a forced smile, saying his final goodbye and walking hurriedly to back to his car.

Well, that was it. Xigbar wasn't going to take him in, and he didn't really have a plan B.

He grabbed the steering wheel tight and exhaled hard. His heart was pounding even harder, filling his solar plexus with a crushing disappointment. He wanted to choke slam himself onto something sharp. He _knew_ this was a terrible idea, but he did it anyway. He guessed that had to count for something in the end... right? He tried. That was more than he could say for the past several years.

Plan B... He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to talk to Lexaeus. He sort of kind of knew a few people that worked there, but didn't know how well he'd vibe with them.

That was always the hang up. He was so scared of making the wrong choice that he never made _any_ choice. It was a vicious cycle of indecision that kept him right where he was, unhappy, empty, unsatisfied, never quite himself.

He started his car and finally pulled away. It was mostly dark now, save for a gentle touch of blue on the horizon. The stars were peaking out from the night sky, the city lights were gleaming at him beautifully while he drove through evening traffic, getting lost in the hypnotic stopping and going.

He hated this town, but it was what he had right now. He had to make the best of it, but if he was being honest, he just didn't have the energy or the patience anymore.

All the worst things that had ever happened to him, happened right here in Twilight Town.

* * *

"So...?"

"If I talk about it, I'll break something."

"Yikes. That bad?"

Roxas took a long drag from his cigarette and didn't respond. Being a smoker had become a bit of a challenge in 2018. It was a dying pastime, really. You couldn't even smoke in bars anymore. Roxas considered himself a textbook hedonist, and had also never really been about self-care or longevity, so he got what enjoyment he could out of the little things, carcinogenic or not.

Hayner idly kicked at the gravel lining his driveway in the suburbs just outside of town. He shared a three bedroom duplex with Roxas and the other two members of the usual gang, Pence and Olette. Pence slept on a futon in the living room, while the other three had rooms to themselves. They were all pretty much millennial stereotypes- fresh out of college with nothing to show for it but obnoxious student loan payments. Even with the four of them splitting the bills, it was tight at best, chaotic at worst. Roxas was the only one who didn't finish college (he may or may not have been kicked out during his first semester), and ironically enough, made more money than the other three.

Roxas reached up and ran a finger down the crease that was forming between his brows. A constant reminder that he wasn't eighteen anymore, a piece of knowledge that had him dodging an existential crisis on the regular. He was twenty-five, but he honestly didn't feel it. The years had snuck up on him abruptly and left him feeling like some sort of perpetual teenager.

"It could always be worse."

"Don't fucking start, Hayner, I swear to god..."

"Dude, you have got to start thinking more positively about this-"

"Every time I think things could be worse, they really do _get worse_. I'm not about to jinx myself with your positive-mental-attitude bullshit."

"You've already jinxed yourself with your shitty attitude, dude."

"My attitude isn't shitty, it's fucking realistic."

Hayner didn't have a response to that, so he defaulted.

"Can we just go get a few tall boys and pretend today didn't happen for either of us?"

"Yeah, but we have to go inside and ask Pence what he wants, because you know he hates PBR."

"He's such a bitch," Hayner complained as he walked up the porch steps to yell into the living room for drink requests.

* * *

"All I'm saying is that men really don't fucking get it. It's not about the money or his looks, it's the talent and the weirdness, and he's so funny!" Olette slurred her words just slightly, gripping her cheap, canned beer to her chest, smiling up into the ceiling.

"You cannot tell me that you think that dirty gas station attendant looking motherfucker is attractive because he's _funny_ ," Hayner said, cracking open another for himself.

"He's funny and his voice is sexy _and_ he actually writes all of his own shit! That is sexy!"

"I call bullshit, I still think it's the money."

"Just because you're shallow doesn't mean everyone else in the world is too." Olette distractedly shook the bottom of her beer can, realizing with disappointment that it was empty.

"Post Malone is the human equivalent of a snot bubble and you can't change my mind."

'Congratulations' played on the stereo connected to Roxas' phone. He knew better than to get in on the debate. He agreed entirely with Olette, but knew Hayner would just write his opinion off on being a general bisexual slut, so it was best to keep it to himself.

"I like him," Pence chimed in.

Everyone laughed and jeered at Hayner. He threw his hands in the air and jumped to his feet.

"Goddamn it! Am I the only person in this house with any fucking _taste_?"

"Did you maybe think," Roxas finally started, "that maybe it's not everyone else? That maybe it's... oh, I don't know... _you_?"

Hayner groaned and walked back to the kitchen, separated only by a change from carpet to tile, and pulled the last four pack of tall boys from the fridge.

"Welp, one more for you two, and two more for me. Pence can have his fucking _Seagram's Escapes_ ," He said, breaking the beers out of the plastic packaging and handing one to Olette.

"Aww look, you still love me," she drunkenly cooed, taking the can with more grace than should be capable of a girl her size who had just slammed three twenty ounce beers.

"Yeah I know, I don't fucking get it, either."

"I love my fruity drinks and no one can tell me shit," Pence retorted.

"And why do you get two more? I'm the one who had a shitty day," Roxas asked.

"Because I'm the alcoholic in the group."

In all honesty though, if Roxas had anything left to be happy for, to feel stable and safe in, it was his friendships with the three individuals in that room with him. They were all damaged in some way, and no matter where their paths took them, they always ended up right back here, in Twilight Town, with each other. On most days, that was a comforting thought, because not many people could say they had friends like that. Some days, though... the uncanniness of it was starting to make Roxas worry that it was less of a blessing and more of a curse.

Why did they always end up right back where they started? It never, _ever_ failed. Olette made it all the way across the country for maybe three months before being forced to come back when her mom died. Pence had a great job in Hollow Bastion right after he graduated for six months before the company unexpectedly went bankrupt and he had to come back. Hayner made plans to leave the fucking country with his last ex right before she dumped him and married the guy she'd been cheating on him with, leaving with him instead. Roxas... he'd had more opportunities than he could count, but he didn't have the luxury of blaming some hypothetical curse- he could only blame himself for not taking any of them.

Hayner had given him that beer, but he suddenly wasn't in the mood to drink anymore. He just wanted to sleep, a solid fourteen hour sleep, the kind that eats away hours of your life that you'd rather not face awake.

"Shit, I'm beat," he said, getting up and rubbing his tired eyes. He put the unopened drink back in the fridge.

"You okay?" Olette asked softly.

"Yeah, just tired. I'll see you guys in the morning."

Everyone said goodnight, and Hayner threw a can tab at him. Roxas rolled his eyes, but didn't respond. The only thing he had the energy for was to take off his clothes and collapse in his soft, warm bed.

He had been actively depressed about a lot of things for a long time, but that soul-crushing anguish had dissipated into a numb apathy. There wasn't much he could actually get excited about anymore. He missed that fluttering in his chest, the kind of anxiety that kept you awake in your bed the night before a big field trip at school. He felt so incapable of anything resembling caring. How far would that apathy go? Would he stop caring about Hayner, Pence and Olette? Would he stop caring about his family? His mom, his dad? Thinking about how low he could get scared him, but he also felt like it wasn't in his control, anyway.

He needed sleep. Thinking in circles like this never solved anything. Always in circles, never coming to conclusions... it was torture, but he didn't know of any other way to be.

He stared up at the dark ceiling, listening to the buoyant chattering across the apartment. The darkness seemed to close in on him, bringing all of his dark thoughts close, making him hyper aware of all of his fears, his fear of the future, his fear of getting old, his fear of never accomplishing what he wanted in life, his fear of losing his friends.

Yet even in the overwhelming darkness, through the quiet tears, there was always a glimmer of hope in his mind and heart. No matter how small it got, it was a light that never went out. He hung onto that hope desperately as he drifted to sleep.

He would feel better in the morning.


	2. True Blue

_Being indecisive? Is that really so scary?_

* * *

Roxas had bad habits, and he never denied it. As flawed as he felt he was as a person, he was at least authentic, and that had to make up for some of his pitfalls. He lit his second cigarette of the morning, and as he strained his eyes to watch cars drive up and down the freshly paved street, he could tell they were puffy and tired, and he hadn't even looked in a mirror yet. It was Sunday, and he was probably going to work first thing in the morning, eight AM sharp... Give or take twenty minutes.

Last night, he had felt mostly defeated, but today he woke up fueled by a sense of anger, pride, and more than a little annoyance- at himself as well as Xigbar. He didn't feel good about being dismissed by the man, who he had come to a conclusion he would probably never see again. He knew his worth, and Xigbar didn't, and that was Xigbar's fucking problem, not his.

He checked his phone, clearing notifications, reading comments but not replying to them. He didn't have time today. He went straight to texting friends or whoever had expressed interest in getting tattooed over the past few years, and sent them all the same message.

 _Hey, remember when we talked about doing that _ tattoo? I have a really nice set up at the house now, we can knock it out whenever you're ready, and don't worry about paying me, I just need it for my portfolio. Lmk when you're ready._

He put his phone next to him on the steps and waited, eyes back to the street, the trees, the flower bushes and unlit street lamps while he fidgeted with his nose ring. In theory, it all seemed so simple, but it hardly ever worked out the way he expected.

'It's the fucking curse,' Roxas thought.

'The Curse' the gang lovingly coined it. It hadn't only been Roxas who had noticed how uncanny their misfortune was. Everyone had seen the patterns, the constant setbacks and failures, even when things seemed so foolproof and easy. Nothing ever just _worked_.

Roxas was getting sick of thinking about it. He just wanted to spend his Sunday stoned and brain dead. One last exhale, and he put his cigarette out against the brick steps and tossed it in the little bucket on the porch that was threatening to overflow. He stood up to go back into the house, and almost defaulted to his old routine of playing video games until one of his roommates got back to give his neurotic brain something else to focus on. Instead, inspiration struck him like lightning, hard and fast, in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was physical and raw and had him nearly shaking in anticipation, like good sex or hard drugs.

With renewed energy, he took off back to his room to dig out a pad of paper and a pack of Micron pens he hoped hadn't dried out. He tested one on a corner of scrap paper. Still good! For the first time in years, he cozied up on his bed and began to draw. His hands worked with a frenzy, making beautiful, bold, clean shapes with ease. Within a couple of hours, he had a page full of designs. A _whole page_. Finished!

It was some of the best work he had done since right before he left his old shop.

"Where the hell did _this_ come from?" Roxas asked aloud.

He guessed it was the anger. He never got anything done unless he was pissed, and after the past few months he'd dealt with, he had every reason to be mad.

It was all fruits and leaves and sunshine and foliage and natural things. Things that reminded him of summers home from school, popsicles, bumblebees, and water balloon fights. For the second time in twelve hours, he started to cry, but this time it wasn't out of fear or despair- he was elated and full of blissful things, the urge to laugh for no reason and sing at the top of his lungs. Is this what happy felt like?

He took a picture and posted it to Facebook, announcing that the designs were available to get tattooed any time. Soon, he was getting notifications, comments, messages, renewed interest from people who he'd figured had forgotten about him as an artist.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.

* * *

"Who's cooking tonight?" Hayner asked the gang.

Olette groaned and Roxas sucked his teeth.

"Oh come on, I made dinner last night!" Hayner exclaimed.

"Can we just go to the chinese buffet tonight? I think I speak for everyone when I say I'm too tired to deal with it." Pence said, leaning forward against the coffee table in a way that looked more like emotional support than physical.

"I second that motion," said Olette, raising one hand lazily.

"Seven dollars for all you can eat, dude," Roxas added in agreement.

"Fine, but I'm not eating shitty chinese food without getting high first."

The whole gang agreed and shook their head while Hayner fetched the hemp papers and the grinder.

"Guys I wanna show you something I did today," Roxas said, opening the drawing pad that had been sitting on the table.

"Oh my god, did you draw something?" Olette asked with bright eyes.

"Yeah, I know, shocking. Check it out." He turned the page towards Pence and Olette, and they both lit up like Christmas lights.

"Oh my god! _Roxas_! I want the peach! And the little bee! And the lime wedge! These are so beautiful, I would get any of these in a heartbeat!"

"You did all of these today?" Pence asked with a smile.

"Yeah, it just kind of spewed out of me. I didn't know I had it in me anymore."

"What's that?" Hayner asked, coming back into the living room.

"Roxas drew a bunch of cute tattoos and they're amazing!" Olette said, picking up the book and showing Hayner the page.

"Oh shit dude, those are dope! You just did those today?"

"Yeah, the line-work and color and everything. I don't think I've ever finished a flash sheet before, not with full color like this."

"You totally deserve to treat yourself at the china-buff today," Olette said, placing the book delicately back onto the table as if it were treasure.

"Yeah, man. Sugar biscuits until you're diabetic," Pence said.

"Thanks guys, it's really cool that you like them, I'm pretty proud of how they came out."

Hayner had rolled an expert joint and lit the end, passing it to Roxas. They all got sufficiently high, full of giggles and ravenous hunger, and ready to gorge on MSG and old fried rice. On the way to the restaurant, Roxas felt like his heart would well and burst. This kind of raw, unrefined happiness was something that had felt like a distant memory to him for years, something to chase, like an addict chasing after the elusive feeling of his first high. In this moment though, it was effortless. This had to be a sign that he was on the right path, that this really was the destiny that he'd been so sure of since he was a child.

The gang seemed to be in a lighter mood today. When you spend so much time with the same group of people, everyone's energy becomes symbiotic in a way. Roxas could feel when Hayner was depressed, when Olette was lonely, when Pence was discouraged and defeated, and any time someone was feeling down, it affected everyone else. The closeness was something Roxas wouldn't trade for the world, but it wasn't always peaches and cream. Particularly a few years ago, Roxas probably almost destroyed their entire dynamic single handedly. He could admit that he was never the best decision maker, but that was probably the height of his total disregard to everyone's wellbeing, his own included.

* * *

It was around ten o' clock in the morning the next day when Roxas started feeling really dramatic.

He looked around the dental lab that had been his second home for years, at the lab equipment, bunsen burners, acrylic dust covering every square inch, hazardous chemicals and heavy machinery all around. The Pandora station was set to the only band they were allowed to listen to- Three Dog Night. It was _terrible_. I mean, it was kind of cool that there was a machine in the corner with a hand held spray nozzle that shot boiling water, and he essentially got to play with fire and hot wax all day, but today he felt especially different. Today, he suddenly felt so out of place, like such an _imposter_ , and he couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how hard he tried, he didn't fucking belong there. He's not meant to get up at 6:30 in the morning and work his fingers to the bone, go home exhausted, wake up still tired, and do it all again for the sake of a few hundred dollars a week and health insurance. _Fuck_ health insurance. He didn't even want it anymore.

He stood up from his desk and took off his apron and his safety glasses, gingerly putting them away and turning off his burner. A sense of calm washed over him, and he wasn't anxious about what he was about to do at all.

He grabbed his keys, double checked for his wallet in his pocket, and walked up to the front desk.

"Are you... going somewhere? It's barely past ten," his manager, a kind older man asked, genuinely concerned. He was sweet and had always looked out for Roxas, and was probably the only reason he was going to feel bad about doing this.

"I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore. Just send my last check in the mail. Here's my key," he said, taking it off his key ring and dropping it next to the time clock.

"You're not _quitting_ , are you?"

Everyone looked up then, shock written all over their faces.

"I guess I am, yeah."

"You know we can't re-hire you if you don't give any notice," he warned.

"Honestly... I'm kind of banking on that."

He didn't give anyone a chance to say anything that might make him change his mind before he walked out. He knew he'd hear it from the gang about rent being even harder to pay now, but ultimately, he knew they would support this decision. If he didn't give himself anything to fall back on, it would be impossible for him to fail... right?

* * *

"Oh god, oh my god, what have I done, what the _fuck_ have I done," Roxas muttered to himself while he paced wide-eyed around the living room. It had been four hours since he got home, and the longer he waited for his friends to come home, the more frantic and out-of-control he felt.

He stopped to hit the bong that was sitting on the coffee table in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves. There's no way they'd be able to make rent now. He should have crunched the numbers before he made such a ridiculous decision, but here he was, in one of the shittiest pickles he'd ever been in because he wanted to be _rash_ and _impulsive_ for once.

This was exactly why he was always so indecisive- when he did make one of those rare, spontaneous decisions, it was always something stupid like this, and it was always unequivocally _wrong_.

He hit the bong one more time, a little too roughly, and had to go spit dirty bong water into the sink.

He was a fucking mess.

"Okay," he said, continuing to talk aloud, leaning over the sink, hands shaking, "I'm going to wait for everyone to get home before I tell them what happened. I'm going to ask my dad to help with rent while I get situated in a shop, which will take what, a month, two months, max? Yeah. I've got this. We've got this. Everything is cool."

He took one deep breath, in through the nose, and out through the mouth. All he needed to do was stay calm and wait for everyone to get home, and they could all sit down and figure it out. They might have to cancel their Hulu and Netflix subscriptions, but who needs TV anyways? They could kick it old school- they had plenty of movies to watch on DVD and Blu-ray. They might have to stay at home and cook more often- but wasn't that a bonus, really? They'd all be a little healthier for it. They were eating too much pizza and chinese, anyway.

Roxas shook his head and walked back to the futon, falling into it to finally relax for a moment. He could handle this. No biggie.

Pence came in first, a couple of hours later, and didn't really question why Roxas was home early. It wasn't a rare thing for him to be let go early on days that he got ahead on his work. Hayner and Olette came in shortly after that, and soon they all found themselves in their usual spots, sitting around the coffee table, talking about their day.

Olette started, "You guys wouldn't believe the amount of poop I had to clean up today. We got in a litter of parvo puppies, and it was just _awful_ , the poor things are swimming in diarrhea, close to death, and Crystal is having to stay overnight at the clinic with them to make sure they make it through the night. I would have stayed too, but I just can't take it anymore. It's really starting to get to me, all the sick and injured babies..." She swirled the steaming hot tea in her mug, looking contemplative.

"From what you've told us, like half of the people who come in with their animals don't fucking deserve them," Hayner said with a grimace.

"They don't. I can't imagine taking in a living being and neglecting it to death like some of these people. Everyone wants a dog, but no one realizes the responsibility required to care for one. It's almost like adopting a child- and sometimes just as expensive."

"You know what I was thinking, though? On a lighter note," Pence asked. "I thought it would be really cool for us to get a cat. Like adopt an adult one from the shelter and skip all the kitten stuff."

"Cats are so much more self-sufficient than dogs, and just as cuddly. I'm down if we can afford it!" Olette said, looking up from her tea with a smile.

"Big if, _unless_ Roxas got that raise his boss has been talking about for a year," Hayner added.

Oh boy. Here we go.

"Actually, about that..." Roxas said, biting his lip.

"Don't tell me they upped your insurance policy again. That company is a shit-stain," Hayner interrupted.

"Actually..." He didn't know if he could even force the words past the lump in his throat. "Guys, I kind of have something to tell you."

No one said a word. They all had enough experience with Roxas to know this wasn't good.

"I uhh... I may have been feeling really dramatic this morning... And I _may_ have done something really... impulsive."

"Oh _no_ ," Hayner groaned, his head falling into his hands.

"It's okay, though!" Roxas said, feeling his hands start to shake again. "Listen, if rent gets really tight-"

"It's already tight, Rox," Olette near-whispered.

"I know. I know... Just hear me out..."

He went to explain getting his dad to help with rent and how it wouldn't be for long and how they could pinch pennies and make it work, but everything got caught in his throat, and all of his failures and bungled plans and mishaps crashed into him like an unforgiving wave at high tide and all of a sudden, shit came bubbling out of him that he wasn't expecting to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, choking up. He could feel his eyes well with tears. This was the third time he had cried in two days. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm fucking miserable. And what am I gonna do, just keep doing the same shit over and over again and expect something different to happen, expect to be happy?" He jumped out of his chair and started pacing around the room again, running his fingers through his messy blond hair too hard and pulling out strands. "I've got to change something, and I felt like if I stayed there, I was never going to. My life is turning into a _fucking_ _prison_ and for too long I've felt like I can't do anything about it, like I have no control, like I'm just watching my life happen to me from inside a glass box and I have no say in what happens." His words were being forced out of a tight throat and clenched teeth and he felt like he would shatter any moment. "Well fuck that... Fuck that! I'm not going to sit back and waste away and let the world turn me into an old, bitter man tormented by regret! I'm going to reach out and take everything I ever wanted, I'm going to have my dream that I started seven years ago when I was eighteen years old, and I'm going to fucking finish it! And I'm going to be goddamn good at it! Once and for all, I'm DONE."

He screamed that last word. Everyone silently watched as he sat on the floor and put his head between his knees. He was having a full blown crisis now, and no one knew what had been going on in his head until this moment.

Olette fought back tears as she knelt on the floor next to him and put her arms around him.

"It's okay," she whispered. "We're here for you, we will _always_ be here for you, and we will help any way we can."

Hayner and Pence chimed in gently, both agreeing that they could make it work, and noting that his dad wouldn't just let them starve or get evicted.

They were going to be fine. The question was whether or not Roxas would be.

* * *

The next day, he found himself sitting in his parked Jeep again, in front of a different shop- Five Points. He was surprised at himself that he had gotten the gall to come here so quickly. It was tucked between a shopping center and a local deli on the northeast end of town, which was less bogged down by the hustle and bustle of downtown, but had enough foot traffic that it was consistently busy. Roxas thought the location was pretty ideal, and mentally noted that there would be less drunk students wandering in on a Friday night, unlike Xigbar's shop.

He had rehearsed his introduction the entire drive over, hoping he could drive Lexaeus' attention away from the number of years he'd been on hiatus and keep him focused on the here and now, the drive and willingness that Roxas had today, in the year of our lord 2018. He didn't see a reason to dwell on the past anymore. He was a different person.

This time, he'd even put together a photo album on his phone of any drawing, painting, or tattoo he could scrounge up, including his newest flash sheet. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Still, even while being much more prepared this time around, his fingers twitched, his heart raced in his ears, his palms were slick with sweat, and he felt another desperate flight response creep into his bones.

Run.

 _Run!_

"Goddamn it," Roxas groaned before getting out of the car and walking across the small parking lot, forcing himself to feel some sort of assurance and confidence. He knew he was talented, he just had to show others what he was capable of, and they would give him a chance. It _had_ to work at some point.

The sign had bold, black font on a white background, with five stars stars surrounding the logo. Simple, but eye-catching, hard to miss from the street.

He tentatively pulled on the door and was greeted again with the smell of disinfectant and loud music. This place was much busier than Xigbar's shop, and Roxas had to weave his way around customers to get to the front desk, which was crowded by artists trying print off stencils, grab paperwork and scan ID's, and handle payments.

Roxas felt so small and overwhelmed in an ocean of anxiety. The noise, the people, the rush... what would have been exciting to him when he was young only terrified him now.

"Um... Hey there!" Roxas near shouted over the music and laughter to a blond haired man with wide, bright blue eyes that looked somehow anxious and elated at once. He was handing out clipboards with paperwork that asked the usual 'do you have HIV?' and 'are you fucked up on anything right now that might impair your judgement?' questions.

"Hey-ohhh!" the man practically sang. "Do you have an appointment? Because we are slammed with walk-ins right now, you might have to come back tomorrow if you don't."

"Oh no, I'm Roxas, I was wondering if Lexaeus was around for me to talk to, Xigbar actually sent me."

"Ohhh, shit, Xigbar! Hate that guy. Super weird. Lexaeus actually isn't here right now, and I'm gonna be honest, I have no idea if or when he'll show up today."

As the man talked, it was clear he was the type of person without an 'off' switch. His hands and eyes moved constantly as he spoke, able to work with ease while he talked to Roxas as cool as a cucumber, all while somehow giving off the vibe that he could do something unpredictable at any moment. He had a dermal piercing under each eye and japanese style finger waves tattooed across his neck, framing his face perfectly. Not to mention a sweet mullet, which Roxas mentally approved of- a modern form of the cut was in style lately, which he loved, but knew he could never pull off.

"Oh okay, well what's the best way to contact him?"

"He's always checking his messages on Facebook, so that's probably the fastest way to reach him. Just start typing in Lexaeus and he should be the first to pop up, big stoic ginger fuck, can't miss him."

"Okay cool," Roxas said, pulling out his phone.

"I'm Demyx, by the way! What brings you here? Looking for work?"

"Well, yeah if you guys have the space for me."

Demyx made a face that was unsure and apologetic all at once.

"I don't know about space, we have five booths and five artists right now, and it already gets crowded some days. Do you have a portfolio?"

"Well, sort of. I'm probably looking for more of a working apprenticeship right now. I started tattooing years ago, but took a long break, so I'm pretty out of practice." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Ohh, gotcha, hey don't feel bad about taking a break, not many artists can do this without getting burned out at some point. Hell, last year even I found myself at a point where I hadn't touched a machine in over three years. It happens in this industry."

Roxas was sure the man didn't know it, but he was comforted beyond anything he could have expected by Demyx's words. Even pros have to walk away sometimes.

He found Lexaeus' profile and double checked with Demyx to see if it was the right one.

"Yep, that's him! I feel like he'll be here later tonight, but let him know your situation, and I'm sure he'll try to help you in some way. And if he can't, come back and talk to me. You seem like a cool kid and I know how tough this industry is. And bring your portfolio, let me see what you got!"

Roxas smiled.

"I will, definitely. Say could I use your bathroom really quick?"

"Yeah, go straight back, down the hallway to the right, and it's the one door on the end."

"Thanks."

Roxas didn't actually have to go, he just wanted an excuse to walk through the shop and check it out. The walls were a cool, professional gray, and the floor a simple, laminated black, but the aesthetic wasn't boring at all. Every wall was covered in paintings- not typical flash or bullshit prints. Every painting was obviously done by an artist here, and he could easily tell which ones were done by the same person. Each piece was steeped in an individual's style, and he wanted to know each person who had put so much heart and soul into every canvas.

The booths were all separated by six foot tall walls, which of course Roxas couldn't see over. As he walked past each booth, he took an inconspicuous glance at each artist. Every booth but one was being used at that point, and Roxas saw two artists, Larxene and Zexion, that he had met once before. He didn't want to interrupt them to talk though, and he wasn't even sure if they remembered him.

When he rounded the corner to walk down the unlit hallway in the back, he almost bumped into the last artist.

"Oh shit, sorry dude," Roxas said, feeling awkward and not wanting to look at him.

The man hummed cooly and eyeballed him in a way that felt invasive to Roxas, but not in a bad way.

Roxas did look up at him then. He was very tall, well over six feet if he had to guess. His energy was strong, palpable, intimidating- it was a combination of his presence and his overall look. The strongest of angled features, unnaturally, near dreaded red hair, shocking, poison green eyes, every inch of skin tattooed to hell, save for his face which only had two simple triangles, one under each eye. Roxas wondered if they were prison tattoos, and got the feeling that he wouldn't be surprised at all if they were.

Looking at him gave him an unmistakable sensation that he hadn't felt in many, many years- a combination of excitement and danger that almost made his toes curl.

The man smirked, just slightly, enough to make Roxas cast his eyes away before he continued back to his booth. Roxas shook his head, not sure what _that_ was all about, and made his way back to the bathroom, which was impeccably clean.

So far, he really liked the place. Not only that, but being here gave him the strangest feeling that he'd been here before, with familiarity, like he'd already had the best and worst times of his life right here.

He leaned against the sink and took several, steadying deep breaths, slowly, carefully. He closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, taking a moment to message Lexaeus, wondering how long it would take to get a response.

Even before Lexaeus messaged him back, about a minute and a half later, he knew it, deep in his bones.

This was it.

This was his new beginning.


End file.
